


Evan's Market

by Tommythebee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coincidental Meeting, Idk how to tag things, Jon is punk and wears skirts, M/M, My First Fanfic, No beta we kayak like Tim, Set during S1, mention of Jane Prentiss and worms, no real spookyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommythebee/pseuds/Tommythebee
Summary: I've seen fics and art circulating that feature skirt Jon/punk Jon/Martin and Jon running into each other at the grocery store late at night so I thought to myself, what if I combined them? So I did.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 22
Kudos: 192





	Evan's Market

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all like this! This was supposed to be speed-writing practice but it got out of hand,, I've never written fic before, but it was a lot of fun

_ I wonder what he thinks of me _

_ The incompetent assistant _

_ Failure to be? _

_ I won't ever know _

_ Trapped in these halls _

_ The nights drag on _

_ The only company empty walls _

_ And a sad cup of tea _

At this last line, Martin's pen stilled, and he let out a long, tired sigh. He  _ knew _ he had forgotten to get something while he was at the store yesterday. "Stupid," he muttered to himself, already loathing the thought of going out into the city, especially since Jane Prentiss and her  _ worms _ were still out there,  _ waiting _ for him to leave the institute. He just knew that the second he walked through that door, something terrible was going to happen. 

He needed that tea, though. All those nights spent in shaking fear, religiously checking that the door and windows were locked and sealed and worm-proof, never being able to relax, always right on the edge of drifting off to sleep, only to jerk awake with a start, shocked back into consciousness by the  _ thump _ of a worm against the window, had wreaked utter havoc on his sleep schedule. Now that he was staying in the Archives, he felt  _ somewhat _ safer, but he still was almost fully composed of anxious energy. And so, he'd taken to brewing a cup of tea before setting down for the night. The box had said it was supposed to help you feel 'naturally drowsy,' but even if it was just a placebo, he'd take what he could get.

Martin sighed again, even more weary than last time. Marking his page with a scrap of paper, he closed the journal he had been writing in. "I'll see  _ you  _ later," he said, giving the cover a little pat as he stood, although the pat seemed to reassure him far more than the journal, which was inanimate, and as such had no need for reassurance. Shucking on an old, well worn jumper, he made his way to the needlessly grand wooden door that was the Institute's back entrance. After a brief moment of hesitation, Martin grabbed the corkscrew from its place of honor, the stack of file folders that was currently serving as a makeshift bedside table.  _ Just in case _ .

Martin knew there was a small 24 hour grocery store a few blocks away, as he'd had to stop there on the way home from the Institute on several unlucky occasions. The road was fairly well lit by a troupe of buzzing yellow street lamps, and there were quite a few people still out and about at this hour, so he felt at least moderately at ease making the small journey. 

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his threadbare sweatpants, back slightly hunched against the chilly air, he started walking. He made it to the store without incident, although he got jumpy the closer he came to other pedestrians, and made sure to give them a wide berth. Martin stood in front of the brightly lit store, face bathed in purple light from a flickering blue neon sign that read ' _ Evan's Market _ ,' and another, smaller sign, ' _ 24/7 _ ,' glowing in red. He exhaled shakily, letting go of the tension that had been building in his shoulders. He had made it.  _ And I didn't even need the corkscrew. Take that, paranoia,  _ he thought smugly.

Gathering his nerves, he pushed open the heavy door, wincing at the clattering of the metal chimes tied to the frame. Martin waved at the person behind the counter. They didn't wave back, but they appeared to be furiously taking notes from several dusty textbooks spread out around them, so Martin figured he'd grab his tea quickly so that he could leave them to their studying. 

He couldn't see anyone else in the store, but he could hear some shuffling, along with what seemed to be a young child begging their mother for sugar free gum. It made him feel slightly better that he wasn't the only customer there, that there would be witnesses if Prentiss tried to attack him.  _ But what if they died because of you?  _ whispered the incredibly annoying voice in the back of his mind. Martin shook those thoughts away, and set off down the aisles to find his tea.

Evan's Market wasn't exactly a large outfit, just a decently sized corner store, but it was a different layout than where he usually shopped, and Martin had only been there a few times previously. He had been wandering around for at least 5 minutes when he finally located the tea, in the  _ candy aisle _ , of all places, which he had completely ignored in his search, because, well, who put tea with candy instead of the drinks? He was comparing his options, trying to decide between a few different nighttime teas, when he heard the door rattle open, along with what sounded like a stifled sound of annoyance and surprise at the needlessly loud door chimes. 

Martin laughed quietly to himself, glad he wasn't the only one who was  _ not _ a fan of the built-in doorbell. Turning back to the wall of possible brewing options, his eyes caught on a box that prominently featured a rather charming cartoon bear sporting a tweed vest and a monocle. He plucked the box off the shelf, and, clutching it to his chest, started to make his way towards the register. Behind him, the child that he'd heard earlier had moved on from gum and was now trying to convince their mom that they  _ needed _ those Pokemon cards.

He had almost gotten all the way to the front counter when he passed by the last aisle. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone struggling to pull a bottle off of the top shelf. He tried to walk past them and just go to the checkout, he really did. But what if it  _ fell on their head?  _ What if they were knocked  _ unconscious _ because he didn't help them?  _ I'm too nice _ , thought Martin, turning around, inwardly groaning at himself. 

"Do you need help?" Martin asked. They had still been trying to snag the bottle, but at his words, they fell back on their heels with a sigh, reaching up to push the flyaway strands of their hair back into some semblance of order. 

"Yes, actually, that would be-" their words trailed to a stop, and he realized they were looking at him strangely.

"Martin?" No. No. This was  _ not _ happening. 

"Jon?" Martin winced at how his voice sounded to his ears, shaky and cracking. He was so caught up in the fact that they had managed to run into each other (Jon must live nearby, which explained why he always got to the Institute so much  _ earlier  _ than everyone else) that it took him a minute to notice why he hadn't realized it  _ was _ Jon. 

Jon's hair was up in a messy bun, for one, which was very different from his usual professional ponytail. He also had on a pair of combat boots, and while they didn't add much to his height, they did give him the air of someone who would not hesitate to stomp on your feet if you made him mad. It was then that Martin realized Jon was wearing a skirt. It was a dark blue material that looked very soft, and it swished around his ankles as he shifted from foot to foot impatiently.

"Are you done staring?" Jon inquired drily. He looked quite done, but there was a tinge of resignation and sadness in his voice. It made Martin slightly angry, as he came to the realization, that there had been people who had given Jon trouble just for how he dressed, and that he had just grown used to it. 

"Oh, I didn't—I wasn't, I uh, um, sorry! Sorry."  _ Great. Real, smooth, Martin. _ "What was it you were trying to grab?" he asked, trying to drag the situation back on track.

"That bottle up there." Jon said, pointing to a light green bottle of shampoo. It was emblazoned with two artfully illustrated sprigs of mint and rosemary, and bore the words  _ All Natural Rosemary Mint  _ across the top. As he picked it up off of the shelf (with much more ease than poor vertically-challenged Jon) Martin noticed a small rabbit on the corner of the label, with  _ Certified Cruelty Free _ written above it. 

"That's nice." remarked Martin, gesturing to the label.

Jon looked up from the floor, of which he had been meticulously studying. "What? Oh, yes, I suppose it is. There's enough cruelty in this world already. I wouldn't want my hair care to add to that."

Martin was surprised by that. He hadn't exactly pegged Jon as very environmentally conscious, but he hadn't thought he would run into him at the grocery store at 22:54, wearing a very nice skirt and—was that a jean jacket? With patches?—either. On closer inspection, Martin realized Jon  _ was _ wearing a jean jacket, covered in patches for punk bands he had only ever heard vague mentions of. In addition to those, there were also several pins with anti-fascism and anti-capitalist slogans on them. 

He had to devote an unusual amount of effort to keeping his mouth from dropping open in shock. Jon, his boss, his boss who doesn't like him, Mr. Uptight, Jon I-went-to-Oxford Sims was  _ punk _ and had  _ incredible _ fashion sense. 

Martin handed the bottle to him. "You look nice."  _ Nooooo Martinnnnn, why did you say that??? That was too forward!! He already hates your guts man, you don't need to give him any more reasons!!  _ screamed the tinier, more anxious Martin frantically running around inside his head.

"I, uh, thank you Martin." Jon said, fingers worrying at a fraying patch on his sleeve. _ Leaves of Grass _ , it read, in a font that looked like it belonged on a sailor's arm. "I look forward to seeing you at work tomorrow."

_ Did he actually say that,  _ Martin wondered,  _ or have the worms got me and this is just my dying hallucination?  _ "Bye Jon," he managed to say, "Have a good night." He turned to leave, and as he was walking towards the register, he heard Jon reply to him.

"Goodnight, Martin. Stay safe." 

He made it to the shop counter without tripping over his own feet, which was a massive win in his book, and paid for the tea without dropping all his change onto the floor. He pulled open the  _ very loud  _ door and stepped outside, clutching the box tightly. Martin walked down the sidewalk, back towards the Institute. Looking into the grandfatherly bear's face, he could almost convince himself that he had heard a hint of a smile in Jon's voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes Jon uses my shampoo what of it? (It's suave professionals rosemary mint and it smells like heaven) It would mean the world to me if you left your thoughts in the comments! I'm always looking to improve my writing. Find me on tumblr @unbakedthoughts sometimes I remember to post stuff there


End file.
